1. I poured every drop of alcohol I could find in my dad’s liquor cabinet down my throat and stumbled into traffic, thinking I was completely untouchable. My uncle picked me up from the emergency room at 2 A.M. on a Wednesday and didn’t say a single word to me.
2. I let yet another boy undress me in my basement. The whiskey on his breath made my blood run cold and the cigarettes he handed me made my head throb, but I smoked them anyway and believed him when he said he loved me more than he loved LSD.
3. I fell in love with a girl who believed that running from her problems would eventually solve them all. She was all tattoos and red lips and leaving home at 16. She told me she once saw God and that he was an alcoholic, just like her father. She left me in the middle of the night one December. I guess I became something that need to be solved.
4. I stopped talking to the boy who loved me even more than you loved James Bond movies because he found my stash of Oxycodone and dumped it all down the garbage disposal, saying he couldn’t watch me destroy himself the same way his sister had.
5. I let some greasy-haired man talk me into shooting a homemade “movie” in his garage. I didn’t really need the money, but holy fuck I needed to think about something other than the way you bit your lip and tapped your foot when you got anxious. A stranger’s hands around my throat were better distractions than writing about you, again.
6. I learned the hard way how painful dying can be when it’s happening to you so slowly, so I tried to speed up the process by crashing my car into the tree we had our first kiss under. My fucking emergency brakes didn’t care that you hadn’t called in 239 days, neither did the doctors that kept me on suicide watch for a week.”